Chương 70: Chapter 71: The Procession of Baal-Mekal

The sun over the Beth Shean valley did not shine; it glared, a heavy, brass weight hanging in a cloudless Levant sky that baked the mud-brick battlements of the inner citadel until the air rippled with thermal distortion. Inside the thick-walled, passive shade of the Egyptian Governor's Residency, Director Paishah leaned back against his cedar chair, his eyes narrow and focused as he scanned the shimmering, translucent user interface ledger windows floating directly over his solid basalt stone desk.

His real-world superiors at Merlion Holdings had demanded an aggressive, unrelenting expansion across this node. True to the ancient West Semitic title he had claimed for his burner profile, he ruled the regional procurement division like a ruthless provincial governor, systematically choking out every minor resource vein in the plains until their local competitors were completely starved of capital.

"The final transactions have settled, Director," a junior logistics clerk reported, as he checked his ink-stained papyrus ledger sheets.

"The transient potter delivered within the deadline. Every single piece successfully cleared our internal automated diagnostics. They were expensive but all high quality, gaining us bonus faction points."

"And the rival player factions?" Paishah asked, his voice sharp and rapid.

"Did any of them manage to source a secondary line of ritual ceramics from the outer wadis?"

"None, sir. Our resource sweep was absolute. The server's ongoing charcoal and copper shortage completely broke the local NPC pottery guilds; they couldn't even afford the silver maintenance fees to keep their wheels spinning. Across the entire Jordan Valley sector, Merlion holds the only viable pipeline for the Autumn Harvest offering." Paishah nodded once, a deep, possessive sigh of relief escaping his chest as he stood up and walked toward the high, narrow window slot of the palace residency.

The Great Autumn Harvest Festival had officially opened, and the sheer scale of the faction presentation was staggering. Thousands of common players and low-caste NPC labourers packed the flagstone market squares below, their collective voices rising in a dull, chaotic roar that shook the cedar awnings.

To secure their absolute dominance over the regional server node and unlock the massive autumn faction reputation bonuses, Merlion Holdings had spent millions of real-world dollars staging this single, triumphant deployment. Down in the staging court, a column of exactly fifty level-40 guild enforcers—clad in gleaming, identical bronze scale coats and carrying heavy, polished wood shields—stood in a flawless, geometric guard formation. Protected at the center of their ranks sat the twenty-piece "Sacrificial Suite."

Paishah looked down at the vessels, a flash of genuine admiration passing through his eyes. The ragged migrant craftsman they had escorted through the hills had turned out to be an absolute technical anomaly. The ten Serpent Vases and ten massive Krater Bowls looked staggeringly extravagant under the blinding valley sun, their heavy, hand-burnished surfaces glowing with a deep, opulent mahogany sheen.

The intricate bronze hilt guards and copper mounting pins the potter had forged onto the wet clay as handles and reinforced base rims added an incredible, hyper-premium visual tier to the inventory lines. To the corporate planners, the suite didn't look like a handmade trade craft; it looked like a legendary, system-blessed artefact that would secure their status at the Baal-Mekal altars for the next three seasons.

"The high priests have completed the preparatory prayers before the monumental limestone stela," the clerk announced, checking his cursive hieratic script logs.

"The temple gates are sliding open. It's time, Director." Paishah adjusted his fine wool mantle, tapping his interface to broadcast the command link across the entire guild network.

"Start the procession. Form the vanguard line. Lets show them there's no competition when it comes to Merlion." A grand, rhythmic blast of bronze trumpets echoed across the plaza, instantly silencing the crowded stalls. The heavy, gold-leafed cedar doors of the inner administrative sanctuary began to slide back into the stone walls, revealing the vast, shadow-drenched interior of the open-air courtyard.

Moving with the synchronised precision of an imperial military parade, the Merlion enforcers locked their boots onto the flagstones, lifting the palm-fibre transport harnesses containing the magnificent mahogany jars onto their shoulders. Paishah stepped out onto the open stone balcony of the residency, his chest swelling with pride as he watched his guild's standard—the blue-and-gold corporate lion banner—unfurl over the monumental mud-brick steps.

The enforcers marched forward, parading the flawless, un-purified Trojan vessels past the brilliant, blue-glazed faïence lotus columns and up the grand incline of the Baal-Mekal Temple before the eyes of the entire server. They had won the economic war, the market was cornered, and the corporate giants were proudly carrying their own execution block straight up to the high sacrificial altars.